Hot Existential Mess

“After great pain, a formal feeling comes – “

                             Emily Dickinson

After a great loss, an informal feeling stings—

The nerves stretch taught, like strings—

The heart bursts out, why did I fall,

And ‘Should I be here at all’?

The Feet, restless, get lost

Down a dark way

Of Frost, or mud, or What—

Madness repressed, 

An inky resentment like a spot—

This is the hour of Drink—

Survived, if not jailed,

As hung-over people, recollect the Night—

First Regret, then Shame, then bravely bearing the light.

Next Chapter: Breath by Breath